Page 82 of Betting on the Bad Boy
“We go in order. One through fifteen. Every time you sink a ball, I have to take something off. Every time I sink one?—”
“That’s not going to happen. Who breaks?”
“As a show of good sportsmanship, you can go first.”
“Good sportsmanship, my ass. I’m going to wipe the table with you.” I pulled back and broke hard, pocketing the two and seven.
Dante cleared his throat. “I forgot to mention...” I looked over at him and a sadistic smile spread across his face. “If you sink a ball out of order, you have to take something off.”
“But—”
“Rules are rules. And none of this one sock at a time thing.”
I frowned, then bent down to take off my boots and socks. The wood floor felt cold under my bare feet. He was going to pay for this. I lined up the one and sent it into the side pocket. “Shoes, please.”
Dante shrugged and kicked off his shoes.
I banked the three, and it drifted to the corner, stopping less than an inch from the pocket.
“Tough break.” He nudged me out of the way with his hip, easily sinking the three and gesturing to my sweater.
I glared at him as I peeled it over my head and tossed it at the table. No worries. I had on two other shirts along with my bra. Plenty to work with.
Two shots later, I stood in my bra and jeans. Damn him. He’d had a cocky grin on his face since we started. I was ready to give him a taste of his own medicine. I sank the six in the side pocket, and before he’d had a chance to remove his socks, I pocketed the seven.
“Nice work.” He unbuttoned his flannel shirt, tossing it on top of the pile of my discarded clothing.
I looked over at him and could see his chest muscles move underneath the tight white tank.Focus, dammit.The eight was a challenge. I barely squeaked it by the ten ball. He took off the tank top, and I didn’t look up.
Instead, I walked around the table, trying to figure out how to get a shot on the nine ball. The best I could do would be to set it up so he didn’t have a clear shot, either. I wedged it up against the side, making his shot difficult, if not impossible.
“What’s it going to be, Faith? The bra or the jeans?”
“Ha. You won’t be able to make that.”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
“You make that shot, and I’ll take them both off. You miss, and you take off your pants.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal, sweetheart.” He lined up, and I moved to a spot just opposite of his aim. I leaned down, resting my hands on the edge of the table, letting my cleavage fall directly in his line of sight. He took the shot and missed.
“Dammit. You’re cheating.”
I shrugged, enjoying the sight of Dante slipping out of his jeans. The only thing standing between me and the sweet taste of success was a snug pair of boxer briefs.
“You play hard.”
“Looks like you’re the one playing hard.” I gestured toward his crotch.
“Yeah, you’d better not sink another one, or you might get an eyeful.”
I sized up my options. My little stunt had worked, but left me in a bad position to get a shot as well. I struck the cue ball, sinking the ten and then the nine. Dante gestured toward my bra. “I like the red one better, anyway.”
“In your dreams.” I undid my jeans and kicked them off, revealing my pink cotton bikini briefs with purple hearts all over them.
“I like your panties.” He bent down to line up his shot. “Although I’d like them better on the floor.” My mistake gave him a clear shot on number eleven, and he sank it with ease.
“Shit.” I shrugged out of my bra, crossing my arms and covering my breasts with my hands.
